An American in Kichijoji
by Muffin Alchemist
Summary: Chapter 4 is up! Jim gets a mysterious call! Mad dash for Holy Forest! Existentianalism! Exclamation Points!
1. Planting the Seed

An American in Kichijoji- Jim Spence  
  
((( Author's Note: Kichijoji is a sector in western Tokyo where GTO takes place. This is an alternate reality GTO fanfic, where an American English teacher joins the Holy Forest crew. The rest of the storyline, however, is unchanged, and the story starts at Book 2 (printed in 1997), when Onizuka and Azusa go in together to get a job interview. You will still hear about Onizuka's antics, but from a more faraway viewpoint. The teacher, Jim, has my name and is loosely based on me and some of my fantasies, but is NOT me. The main point of this story is to point out some of the faults in American society, the Japanese educational system, and humanity in general (Much like Fujisawa-sama actually does in GTO). There will still be some humor (I'm not THAT serious, you know ^_^), because this is GTO. And BTW, all of the characters and place names in this story belong to Tohru Fujisawa, except for Jim-sensei, who belongs to Jim-author.)))  
  
Planting the Seed- Chapter One  
  
There was one thing you could say about that room. It was dark. Oh, sure, there were plenty of problems with it- the stifling atmosphere, the intense, permeating heat, the fact that the lights were too bright and made the young man sitting there look like he was being interrogated. Which he might as well have been, looking at this lot. Wait. Why are you interrupting? Oh. The idea that the room was dark when the lights were too bright. Yes, yes, it will make sense in a second.  
The room was a standard office-looking room, with blinding white paint on walls that took on a bluish or a yellowish hue depending on what time of day it was, a scruffy, ugly, patterned carpet that tried to pass itself off as being impressionistic art, and your standard office furniture. You know, those cheap steel folding chairs with the thin leather seats, the long table that was probably about five percent wood-patterned plastic casing, ninety-five percent steel. It was an odd room in several ways, too. The aforementioned chairs, four of them, and table were the only things adorning the godawful room, making it look even larger and more looming.  
The guy in the chair, facing the three men, had seen it all before. No matter where you went, the office (or, in this case, school) furniture looked like it had been designed by monkeys, the carpets had been dyed by a sloth with two fingers (one on each hand), and the bigwigs tried to show off their dicks and make you look smaller. That would be a tall order, all three of them, the guy in the chair thought. The three men on the other side could not look less like the pretend-bigwigs the guy in the chair had grown so   
accustomed to seeing. The man in the center and the man on the guy in the chair's right looked like clones of each other, huge nostrils, an ever-present frown, even when they were fake-polite-smiling right then and there, huge forehead-wrinkles, eyes that showed that they once had the fire in them to get to the top of their narrow little world. Those eyes were now   
dulled by the pull of age and their constant superiority complexes. The clones were mostly bald, both of them with the exact same pseudo-monk look that had gone horribly wrong. Both wore ill-fitting suits, although Center Man's looked a great deal nicer. Center Man wore glasses, while Left Man didn't, and Center Man had a bandage on his nose that tried to cover up a nosebleed, a dried stream of which was still visible below his right nostril.  
Right Man looked considerably different from the clones. He looked like somebody had pulled a Japanese man out of the sixties and threw him into the late 90's. He had a sweater-vest plus tie plus turtleneck shirt thing going, not to mention his khaki slacks. The hair on his head was combed in a very retro fashion, with the right part of his hair combed over the part while the left was combed under, looking like an old tectonic plate diagram where one plate slid over the other. The look on his face was a copy of the other two's.  
That's where the dark part came from. The feeling the guy in the chair got from the looks on the three men's faces. Those three men were black holes, their stares capable of stopping youthful enthusiasm and ingenuity cold. Light could not escape their grasp.  
Center Man, whose name was actually Hiroshi Uchiyamada, took a second look at the guy in the chair. The other two took their second looks, and even a third. Uchiyamada did not take a third, because he had opened the manila folder that held all of the guy in the chair's information. The first page was a personal information sheet, printed mostly in a very clean hiragana. The guy's name, however, was printed in katakana on top, romaji in Japanese transliteration, and romaji in English transliteration at the bottom of the little field marked "Name". Uchiyamada took a close look at the katakana, then looked up at the guy again.  
Ahem. Uchiyamada took a deep breath and rattled off the katakana.   
"Sipensu Jimu-san?" He paused for a moment, looking for recognition in   
"Jimu-san's" face. "Jimu-san" nodded. Uchiyamada paused again.  
"Do you speak any Japanese, Jimu-san?"  
"Hai," the guy in the chair said.  
"More than that a tourist would know?"  
"Jimu-san" smiled. Then he spoke, in perfect Japanese. "Please instruct Sakurai-sensei to read off my name in the English transliteration of my katakana."  
The three stared. None of them had ever seen an American who could speak Japanese without a Western accent. In fact, it sounded more like a Tokyo accent than anything else. Uchiyamada, still staring at the American, passed the manila folder to Right Man, a.k.a. Tadashi Sakurai, one of the prominent English teachers in Holy Forest. Sakurai looked down at the katakana and the romaji. The first definitely said "Si-pe-n-su–Ji-mu", which was matched by the first romaji. The second romaji, however, was going to be a bit harder to decipher. It said "S-P-E-N-C-E--J-I-M".  
"Sp-Spay-Spayncay?" Jim nodded "no". Sakurai tried again.  
"Sp-Spe-Spence?" Jim nodded "no", again. He had made the last "e"vocal   
instead of silent like it was supposed to be.  
"Give me some help, dammit!" Sakurai yelled.  
Jim's eyes narrowed. "You're the English teacher. Get on with it."  
Sakurai tried a third time. A fourth. A fifth. The faintest traces of red were now starting to appear at the base of his stupid white turtleneck.  
"Spence, Jim," Jim said. "It's not that hard. Those are actually fairly   
common names back home."  
Sakurai glared at the young man, and then passed the folder back to Uchiyamada, who just stared. The little red wave had receded back into Sakurai's turtleneck, but his severe look had not.  
The truth was, Jim didn't mind being called "Jimu". It was the natural way for the Japanese to pronounce it, and sometimes it actually sounded almost right. He just didn't like the look of Sakurai. Pride goeth before the fall, yeah, that should be Sakurai's life statment. Jim thought it amazing that a high-ranking English teacher couldn't pronounce a simple English name. He wondered what other atrocities this man had committed in butchering Jim's native tongue.  
Uchiyamada took a second look at the sheet.  
***  
Holy Forest Academy  
Teacher Application Form  
  
" Interview Questionnaire: Applicant 22"  
" Name: Sipensu Jimu (katakana)  
Sipensu Jimu (romaji)  
Jim Spence (romaji)"  
"Age: 22"  
"School: Woodcroft College of Visalia" (This was in romaji)  
"Major: History"  
"Thesis Topic: Rome and its effects on Modern Society"  
"Desired Teaching Subject: English 3 through 6"  
"Favorite Books: Blue Mars  
Lord of the Flies  
The Tale of Genji"  
"Interests: Manga, Drawing, Writing, Studying Sociology"  
"Favorite Films: The Matrix, Princess Mononoke, Star Wars"  
"Personal Heroes: Andrew Jackson  
Napoleon Bonaparte  
Sun Tzu"  
"Reasons for wanting to be a Teacher: Up until my freshman year in college,   
I wanted to be a businessman. However, mitigating circumstances changed my   
mind for teaching. An unfortunate incident caused me to lose heart in the   
business profession and take up teaching, so I can better the lives of my   
students through my work."  
"Extracurricular Activities: History Club (President, 3 years)  
Latin Club  
J/V Wrestler"  
"View on School Violence: I believe that the parents are the root of the   
violent behavior of their children. A combination of being spoiled and being   
restricted have caused the children to attempt to speak out through a   
certain arrogant rebellion."  
"Personal Essay: I left America because the environment there was too   
selfish, too greedy. I felt like there were too many people who were trying   
to put me down for their own gain. I believe that the core of my   
personality, a general unselfishness and world-wisdom, will flourish in a   
better environment such as here in Japan."  
"Additional Skills: Can also speak French and Latin, as well as English and   
Japanese  
Some woodworking ability  
Some drawing and design ability"  
***  
Uchiyamada stared. At the paper, at Yokomizu (Left Man), at Sakurai, a second credential sheet, and finally at Jim. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't, for some odd reason. Jim just kitty-smiled.  
"Well, gentlemen? Are my credentials in order?"  
Uchiyamada cleared his throat. He had regained some of his composure, but a good deal of his earlier smoothness had been lost. "Well...." He paused, searching for the name again.. "Sipensu-san. It says here that you received a history degree, but you still want to teach English?"  
Jim kept his smile riding high. "Hai."  
"I see." Uchiyamada looked down at the paper. "English 3 through 6?"  
"Hai."  
"As in, Advanced Grammar through Mastery of Literature?"  
"Hai."  
"And yet you have no teaching experience, Sipensu-san."  
"Iie, Uchiyamada-san. I would have taught history over in the United States, but, as I stated in my application, I wanted to come here to teach. English seemed the most natural thing to me, as I only learned a small amount of Japanese history."  
Uchiyamada was struck by the young man's unusual Japanese, the only mark of his being foreign (well, excepting his appearance, of course). Some of the words he used were excessively formal, and some even bordered on being archaic. He seemed to have gotten his sentence structures on perfectly, though. The boy also did not seem to follow any pattern in his application, either. At least nine of the earlier applicants had apparently followed some form of manual on how to write resumes. Others had written very similar passages in several areas. As a matter of fact, this boy seemed to have written the only truly original application he and the others had seen all day.  
Yokomizu took up the questioning. "What Uchiyamada-san is trying to say is that how can we expect you to teach a course you don't even have a degree in?"  
The smile dropped from Jim's face. "I took the three-week training period, Yokomizu-san. As an English teacher. The principal complemented me shortly before I left, saying that my students were so disappointed at my leaving that they almost threw out my replacement, that I had taught them so well that they were lording their newfound knowledge over their fellows. It's all right there, in the credentials sheet. Besides, am I not an American? I could speak English better than...."  
Sakurai noted the pause, as well as Jim's attempts to keep that smile from returning to his face. "Better than who, Sipensu-san?" Jim noted that   
Sakurai didn't try to pronounce his name right.  
"Very well, since you asked me.... I can speak English better than you, Sakurai-san," he stopped for a moment. "Aren't you the big English teacher on this campus?"  
That little line of red surged up through the turtleneck again, stopping about an inch below Sakurai's chin. Sakurai's lips formed a smile again, though, as the red line receded a little bit. Not that fake-polite smile from before, but more like a knowing smile. "Alright, then, Sipensu-san. Try me."  
Jim adopted the same smile as Sakurai. This was a game now. The ball was in his court. Little did they know, he had the special foolproof half-court shot. "Alright, then. I'll give you a good deal of credit, since your reputation around here is so high. Let's play a little English 6." Jim reached beside him, and dragged the red, white, and blue duffel bag, a present from his father, up and set it on his lap. He dug through the contents, and eventually came back up with a small paperback book.  
"You've read Lord of the Flies, haven't you, Sakurai-san?"  
Sakurai thought for a moment. Another moment. A little while longer.   
Finally, he nodded. "That's the one about the little English boys who become savages, right?"  
Jim nodded in his turn. "Right. Now do you remember the point where Jack painted his face and began to act like a savage?"  
Sakurai thought for a moment, but not for nearly as long as he had when he tried to remember the book's title. "Of course."  
Jim handed Sakurai the book. "What words in here emphasize the extent of the idea that Jack's civility had been shed whenever he put the mask on?"  
Sakurai swallowed and paled. He picked up the book and started thumbing through it. "Page 59, Sakurai-san." Jim's brown eyes had become like some painted metal, his pupils like turrets, firing beams of paralysis. The other two educators looked on in anxiety.  
Sakurai started reading. He kept reading, but stopped after a while. "Jack isn't on this page, Sipensu-san."  
Leaning over the table, his face dangerously close to Sakurai's diamond-patterned power-tie, Jim spoke. He said, "That's because that is page 95, Sakurai-san. That book is printed left-to-right, in the European style."  
Sakurai paled even further, then reddened. He flipped through the book again, finally landing on page 59, and tried to read again. He faltered. Then he paled again.  
Jim glared. "Let me guess. You never said you read Lord of the Flies in ENGLISH, did you?"  
Sakurai's face became a tomato. Jim had never seen such a deep red on a person, and Uchiyamada had only seen that when he became angry.

Sakurai's face lightened a bit, but it was an angry red now, not an embarrassed one. "How dare you... how dare you insult my prestige as an English instructor, you American hack! How dare you attempt to sum up my career in a minor children's novel! What do you know about teaching?"  
Jim adopted a dangerous look, eyes and lips narrowing to mere lines. "Lord of the Flies has been one of the most influential novels of the history of English literature. It is an allegory for a political arena that existed until recently, and raises questions about the whole of humankind. It is not minor, it is not a mere children's story, and you are just trying to cover your ass for not being able to teach whatever the hell you're trying to teach!  
"How dare you try to insult me and my language when I have learned yours near-perfectly! I read the Tale of Genji in the original kanji!" The three educators shot up as if hit by lightning. Which they might as well have been. Uchiyamada stuttered for a second, but eventually got out:  
"W-well, Sipensu-san, i-i-it appears that you have everything you n-need to start teaching. We will contact you when we deem it... necessary. You may leave now." Jim stood up, slung his duffel bag around his right shoulder, and left, not even bothering to pick up his book.  
Uchiyamada and Yokomizu stared at Sakurai for a moment. Uchiyamada spoke. "Hiroshi, if you would?" It took a while for this to register with Sakurai.  
"Oh... right." He stood up, pocketed Jim's book, bowed, and left. The head of the sociology department, Hideki Kokoro, sat in Sakurai's vacant seat. Uchiyamada set Jim's materials aside and pulled a second manila folder out of the box beneath his feet. He looked at the print club sticker stuck to the picture section of the application. A blonde-haired young Japanese man stared goofily back at him.  
"Eikichi Onizuka, huh?" Uchiyamada planted a grin on his face, and   
whispered, "Well, then, this ought to be interesting..."  
Yokomizu shot a quick glance at Uchiyamada. "Excuse me, sir?"  
"Nothing. Nothing at all."


	2. The Seed Makes a Bud

Chapter Two- The Seed Makes a Root  
  
As a matter of fact, that same Eikichi Onizuka, the blonde-haired Japanese man, was sitting just outside the same interview room Jim had exited. The two shot a glance at each other at just about the same time.  
Onizuka saw a fairly tall man (in Japanese terms... Jim was only 5'8"), almost as tall as he was. The man was dressed in a traditional business suit, blue, wool, the sign of a man who was trying his damnednest to get along the fast track. But, Onizuka got another feeling from this man. A feeling similar to the ones he got from Ryuji, and Saejima, and Abe, and Umekira, and all his old biker buddies. He wanted to stay outside the system. That look in his eyes... that's what gave him away. That look, the one that showed that he had seen the world, he had experienced it, and then he had just spat in it, and said, "fuck it, I'm going to make my own way". He also had a bit of Azusa-ness, that idea that no stain could go uncleaned (not even the ones in Onizuka's boxers), in him too. Onizuka could tell Azusa's personality even though he had only met the young woman less than an hour ago. He guessed that that was his specialty, figuring out how people ticked before they even spoke to him.  
The man's physical appearance was an odd blend, too. His eyes had the traditional Western wideness, probably even to the point of exaggeration. He had those puffy Western lips, too, and the broad shoulders. The suit he wore gave a very artificial impression that those shoulders were huge on top, and cut in deep to a medium-sized waist. Of course, this was just artificial, but still.... His pants had an odd bulge at the top... his legs must have been huge. His black shoes were alright, not Italian or anything, but they were suitable for an interview. He wore no tie. All in all, you couldn't miss him, especially not in Japan. But it was his dark brown hair that attracted the most attention of all.  
It had been painstakingly gelled, to form seven huge bangs all across his forehead, all the same upside-down-teardrop shape. The rest of his hair had been positioned by a massive horizontal part that separated those bangs from the back of his head. In the back... that was the most remarkable part. The back was longer than most girls' hair, settling down near his waist. It had been braided, the braid as thick as his head, coming down in plaits two or three inches wide. The hair near the bottom was also shaped like an upside-down teardrop. He looked like that guy from that old TV show, what was his name? That's right. Duo Maxwell. He looked like Duo Maxwell. Well, almost.  
Jim smiled when he saw Onizuka and Azusa, who was sitting next to him. "I don't see too many blonde-haired Japanese around, mister," he said, increasing his smile a little more as he took a second glance at Onizuka's hair.  
Onizuka thought for a second before speaking. "Yeah, and I don't see too many Americans working at a Japanese school." He smiled too. "You going to a convention?"  
Both Azusa and Jim laughed at this. "Nah... I like my hair this way. I've been growing it ever since I was... ever since I was 18. It looks beautiful, ne?"  
"Yeah, and you'll end up getting screwed by emotionless mecha pilots. If not, then definitely rabid fangirls." Azusa's smile lessened a little bit, but Jim almost burst out laughing. Azusa wasn't terribly fond of jokes where somebody was getting screwed. Of course, Jim was (Hey, what American guy wouldn't be? ^_^). He shook hands with both of them, and all three exchanged names.  
A little man in a suit popped out of the interview room. "Uh... Onizuka Eikichi? You're wanted in here." Onizuka shook hands with Jim again, Azusa wished him luck, and then Onizuka left. Azusa motioned for Jim to sit, but he shook his head.  
"Sorry, I don't think my interview went too well... I'm going to the cafeteria to get something to eat."  
Azusa gave Jim a shocked look. "I don't get it. You're going to be an English teacher, right?"  
Jim smiled. "Yeah."  
"Then how could you not be hired? I heard that the English department here was seriously needing somebody."  
"I gave the wrong impression in there." And with that, Jim headed for the cafeteria. Azusa tried to make some protest, but she faltered and just settled to watch his long braid bounce away.  
Jim went over the interview again. Their confused stares, and his simple rebuttal. Not too bad. A bit arrogant, perhaps. Uchiyamada reading his transcript and application. Unavoidable. I only wrote the truth, which was needed to be heard. Deflecting Yokomizu's questions. Also unavoidable, with my transcript in the shape it was in. His first challenge to Sakurai. Now THAT was mistake #1. My second was trying to intensify that one. Oh well... there are always other schools.  
He turned and walked into the cafeteria, which still looked fairly empty. Most people just got an iced tea from the student store and left. There were a couple of small groups of teacher applicants, a group of four sitting in a table in the center and two groups of three in outlying tables. They all talked in hushed tones, showing that many of them weren't too confident about their recent interviews. The cafeteria was standard grey plastic all around, totally emotionless. Jim turned to his left, and saw the closed, ribbed, grey metal cafeteria window covers covering the spaces where the students would be getting food. Finally, to his right, he saw the student store, where the students and teachers could get snacks. It was the only place in the school that was open that day for food.  
An old woman worked in the student store, a happy little smile on her face as she served an ugly middle-aged woman a soda. Despite her gray hair, she didn't look all that old.. She had a couple of large wrinkles around her mouth, but that was all. Jim could almost feel her kind aura.  
"What can I be doing for you today, sir?" She gave another cheerful smile.  
"Do you serve any hot tea here, ma'am?"  
She sighed. "Sorry, sir. The heating unit isn't working right now."  
Jim could feel another thing from her. The feeling that she was... watching him. Curiously. And not the curiosity that the American mouse gets when he sees the Indian tiger. In fact, it felt like it was the other way around.  
"Alright then, I'll have an iced tea."  
"Which kind, sir?"  
Jim quickly glanced at all the teas she had available. Which was quite a lot. Ah well, just go with something traditional. "Green tea with ginseng?"  
She smiled again. "Alright, that'll be 90 yen." Jim paid her with the 100 yen bill, and got his tea and 10 yen back. Jim smiled and left for the table. Green tea was very nice, but not if you were standing up gulping it. He had learned that a long time ago. He sat down alone at one of the tables, back to the table itself so he could continue observing the cafeteria. There was nothing more boring than staring at a table or a wall while you were enjoying something. Well, maybe church beats it, but it'd be close for sure. The best times are when we combine all kinds of sensory data, he thought. That's why it's so good to taste the good tea and see the poor people and listen to them bitch and moan, smell the clean in the room (marked by the lack of stench), feel the air, everything. If you're not indulging your senses, you're brain's turning to mush, and you're not living. Too bad TV and the Internet are suppressing people's brains everywhere. People are starting to surrender their brains entirely.  
Soon after, the blonde Japanese man, Onizuka, came back in. He ordered from the old woman at the counter and she started up a conversation. They talked for a while (Jim couldn't quite hear what they were talking about), long enough for Azusa to appear. Onizuka looked a bit disappointed, much like Jim probably had seemed. Azusa seemed happy, but only until she eavesdropped on Onizuka's conversation, when she adopted a look of shock. A little more talking, a little more listening, and she started smiling again. Brighter than before, though. She must have heard something really good from him. Jim couldn't help but smile himself.  
Unfortunately, the cafeteria's peaceful nature was shattered by a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. Jim coughed involuntarily as the tea accidentally went down his windpipe. By the time he had stood up and recovered, Azusa, Onizuka, and the old lady had already rushed outside.  
The scene outside could almost have been comic, if it wasn't so serious. Around twenty or thirty middle-aged-to-old-aged men and women, all suited or dressed up, were standing and forming a loose crowd that blocked the hallway. They were facing three teenage punks, one of them wielding a rusty katana, a five-o-clock shadow, and a bad haircut with a really bad dye job. The punks were destroying all of the trophy cases in sight, using the katana, a wooden baseball bat, and a fire extinguisher one of them had probably lifted just a few seconds before. Jim knew that if half of the older group were fit in any way, they could have jumped the three punks and utterly destroyed them, but all of them were ensnared by fear. The only ones that didn't look totally afraid were the Vice Principal, Uchiyamada, and his assistant Yokomizu. Only their sense of duty kept them from wetting themselves.  
The one with the katana had been calling out Uchiyamada, and now the two were facing each other.  
Katana-boy spoke first. "Hey, Uchiyamada! You remember me? I'm Ebisawa! You threw me out of your freaking school! And now I'm here for payback!!"  
Uchiyamada held his ground, but barely. "This isn't your playground. Go back home! Is that an old katana?" Ebisawa swung the weapon several times to show that, yes, it was a katana. Yokomizu called for somebody to call for the police. Immediately after that, everything happened at once.  
Jim felt a breeze go by him as Ebisawa moved in for the death stroke but then somebody called out "NO!" and it turned out to be Onizuka who stood in front of Uchiyamada and charged himself with protecting the old man in a ridiculous, anime-esque manner. Uchiyamada gained his courage back immediately, of course, now that there was an expendable body between him and the katana.  
"Who the hell are you?!" Ebisawa yelled at Onizuka.. Uchiyamada replied for him.  
"This is one of our teachers. He starts work in the spring." Then Uchiyamada whispered something to Onizuka, probably a bribe for a job at the school. Ebisawa snarled, but held his tongue. Uchiymada readied himself for a rant.  
"I don't have to take this from you scum! You boys are pariahs! You throttle your motorbikes at night, you use drugs and you threaten everybody around you with violence! You are a disgrace to our school, a cancer that once threatened to suck the life out of it! You are trash! Go ahead, Onizuka, TAKE OUT THE TRASH!!!"  
Onizuka didn't take a single step towards the punks. He turned around. He was angry. As everybody watched, he positioned himself so that he was facing the punks but behind Uchiyamada. He grabbed the vice principal by the waist.  
It only took a second for the amateur wrestler in Jim to realize what he was going to do. "MATSU! Onizuka-san, nani wa shimasu ka?!?" SHIT! Onizuka, what are you doing?!? Onizuka paid no heed, and turned the vice principal's world upside down. Literally. He lifted Uchiyamada up with his arms as he bent his body backwards into a "U" shape, and as he did, slammed Uchiyamada into the ground behind him.  
He had performed the dreaded German Suplex. On the vice principal. There was no sound for a moment, then a horrific crack as Uchiyamada's head struck the tile floor and split two of the tiles. The vice principal's glasses flew off and one of the lenses cracked across the lens before the crack splintered into a delta shape. Uchiyamada himself was alright... there was a little bit of blood starting to pool around his head and he was foaming at the mouth, but he was still conscious.  
Everybody else, however, was speechless. The endless silence was broken when Yokomizu screamed out Uchiyamada's name. One of the younger applicants turned to Onizuka as the others helped Uchiyamada up. "Just who do you think you are? You're just a thug like them! A violent monster! How the hell did you ever get this far in the application process? You should be locked up like them!"  
Onizuka gave the man an icy stare. Then he spoke in a low, angry voice. "The question is, just who do you think YOU are?" He scuffed the white floor with his shoes before he continued. "What gives you the right to stare down your noses at people like this, call them names like 'scum'? Those names cut deeper than any katana. As long as there are teachers like you, there will be students like this," he said, motioning toward the stunned Ebisawa and his cronies.  
"I regret ever wanting to be like you. I regret ever wanting to be a teacher." He turned, spoke a little to Ebisawa, then turned down the hall and began to leave the building. Ebisawa and the other two followed him.  
Azusa, the old woman, and Jim followed the four. They were talking in one of the courtyards when Azusa burst out into the glaring sunlight, yelling, "Onizuka! You can't walk out like this!"  
Onizuka merely gave her a passing glance, then started to walk away from the school, coat slung over his shoulder.  
"You can't quit! What you just said was inspiring! Come back!"  
Onizuka turned his head to Azusa, and smiled. "They never were going to hire me. I just realized that." He stopped, and turned his body halfway around. "Hey, Azusa. Be a good enough teacher for the both of us." And with that, he turned and left for good.  
The beautiful blue sky laughed down at all of them. Jim was annoyed, and indignant. The old woman looked disappointed, and Jim sensed a hidden emotion within her again. This time, though, he couldn't guess what it was. Azusa was crestfallen. And nobody could blame her. The "punks" were still in a state of awe, just starting to turn into the barest fringes of shock and disappointment at what had just happened.  
Jim thought for a while, then smirked. Only the old woman noticed him. "What? What are you smiling about?" She kept her voice neutral, but there was a heavy steel hidden by it.  
"I was just thinking about what he did."  
She looked at him cockeyed. "And?"  
"I don't think he realizes it, but he's one of the smartest men he's ever seen."  
All eyes turned to Jim. "Excuse me?" Azusa asked.  
"Think about it. To a conventional mind, Onizuka had two choices. He could have gone with his sense of moral justice, that the privileged shouldn't snob out his so-called 'inferiors', and let Ebisawa-san beat the crap out of Uchiyamada, and most probably not gotten a job here because of his interview. Or, he could have gone with his sense of gain, beat the crap out of Ebisawa-san, and gotten the job. However, those consequences interfered with something else he has going on in his head. He couldn't take the job for saving what he hates the most, arrogance. And he couldn't stand by and let the products of a bad system beat the crap out of a small part of the system. That never solves anything. So, he did something unexpected: he went with his own judgement, and his own figuring of his odds of getting in in the first place, and thumbed his nose at the system himself. He showed his disdain for the system, while letting it slide... he saved Uchiyamada's health, career, and possibly life by drawing attention to himself... isn't that fascinating?"  
All eyes stayed on Jim. Only the old woman's were not shocked. They were smiling, along with her mouth. "Yes. I find that very fascinating. Very fascinating indeed..." She gave another long look at him, smiled that mysterious smile at him (goofy, but knowing), and slid back into the building. Ebisawa and his crew said a hurried "sayonara" and left, the largest "punk" dropping his fire extinguisher. Azusa took a look at Jim, a little confused one, and followed the old woman's lead. Jim gave a slow smile, and stared out to where Onizuka had left. "I hope I get to see you again, Onizuka-sensei..."  
  
*** Author's Commentary: I'm trying not to follow the books TOO closely, but Jim was in close contact with Onizuka throughout the entire chapter, so it remained exactly like the book. Don't worry, Chapter Three will be mostly original until the end. I'm finally out of school (YES!), so I'll have a LOT more time to write and update my stories more than once every quarter ... 


	3. Extraterrestrial Bean Curd UFO Tofu

Chapter Three- Extraterrestrial Bean Curd (UFO Tofu)  
  
I wonder what he would have done in this situation, Jim thought. That Onizuka, I mean. He couldn't answer himself. That was alright, he usually couldn't. No focus, never any focus. He reached up, and touched some of the still-wet blood on his mouth, becoming clearer by the moment as the stream was hit by falling raindrops. The spit on his face had probably worn off as well, but he still felt its sting, that sickly sort of afterfeel one gets after touching shit or cum or some other of somebody else's bodily function. Always somebody else's, never your own. You can't tickle yourself, you know. Ok, get back on track...  
Jim groaned as he leaned up, fresh lances of fire piercing his gut where the bat had struck him. Good thing it wasn't nailed. Only yakuza use nailed bats, stupid. Get back on track, dammit. Where the hell are you? The focus was starting to come back, little by little. I'm in Seibu. Seibu, Seibu, Seibu... right. Off-center of Tokyo, west by northwest. Funny how people use "north by northwest" as a direction so much more. It sounded cool, but so did west by northwest. Or east by southeast. That was a pretty good movie, though.. GET ON TRACK, YOU STUPID BASTARD....  
Ok, fine.  
Start at the beginning. What beginning?  
You can't remember it? No.  
Amnesia? Hell no. I'll remember in time. That dumbass got me only once, remember?  
What dumbass? Lemme think... the red-haired one.  
There aren't any red-haired people in Japan, stupid. What about Americans? And dye is everywhere now. That's how I remember him, the crappy dye job.  
Right. I know I am.  
Why was he hitting you with a bat? I was... resisting... him.  
Why did you resist him? For what purpose? I can't remember.  
We'll try again later. Alright, then.  
A silent grunt, pain transformed into a puff of air through the nostrils, as his forearm scraped against the rough brick wall when he tried to get up. He fell the first time, when his left foot slipped and brought everything else down with it, including the forearm. It was getting fairly scraped up. Now flat on his back staring up into the "stars". It's too bright for stars. There are no stars, just a great big black mouth staring down at you. But how is the sky trying to eat me? I never said it did. It's this damn city that's eating me, that's what. I never said that did, either. I never mentioned the city. Right, but that still doesn't exclude it from being truth. Right. Very good, your mind is starting to work again. I still can't remember anything. It will come in time.  
Jim tried again to stand up. He pushed up with his left arm, the non- scraped one, that's right, almost fell again when it slipped. He flipped himself over using the arm, kneeled, groaned again when the spears struck a second time, finally got into a standing position. He was dizzy, and almost fell over. A few wobbly steps in no particular direction. Wait. He could see stars. All of the streetlights and gaudy neon signs had been turned off. What time was it? He never would know. His watch was off. He scrambled around in the darkness again, cursing those damned red-hot spears as they struck a third time. Realization. The cold fear swept over him, chilling him to the bone then warming him as the cold left. But then it returned in the form of rain.  
They took my watch. Now you remember.  
Not everything. I didn't expect you to.  
Punks. I can see five of them clearly. Ah... five. That's a big improvement. How many were there total?  
Seven. No... eight? It had to be eight. Wrong again. Nine.  
Huh. Yeah, weird, isn't it?  
They took everything I had. Correct. Your money and your watch. Not that that's much...  
That explains why my pants pocket was torn out. Interesting anti- pickpocket technique, not carrying a wallet. Too bad they had knives.  
Am I cut? See for yourself.  
Yeah... three times on my left hand. Ouch.  
Yeah. So now you have how you ended up in a street. And why. Good job for a guy who's just been beaten in the head.  
Thanks for the complement. You probably lost a hundred thousand brain cells back there.  
Yeah, yeah. You have, what, ten left? ^_^  
Knock it off.... Alright, alright.  
Why Seibu? You tell me.  
Jim's glasses were lying not ten feet from him, probably forgotten in the brawl, the moon's reflection in the glass reflecting on his retina. He put them on, glad to see only a small scratch down in the corner of the right lens. They were still spattered with rain, so he wiped it off with his t-shirt. Unfortunately, his shirt was soaked. Damn. The water was now smeared, less concentrated in some places, in long, thick streaks in others. But he could see well. Well, well enough. Better than being blind.  
He couldn't read the signs outside, it was still too dark and too rainy. But that was alright. Whenever the outside couldn't entertain him, he turned inward. This loss of memory troubled him, however. He had never been proud of it, but this was particularly bad.  
But why Seibu? It didn't have much of a market district, unlike Kichijoji... it was mostly residential. Middle-class. The place where the boring old dirtbags like Sakurai and Uchiyamada lived. Unfortunately, the only people he knew in Tokyo were Azusa and Onizuka, and Azusa lived in Kichijoji, actually fairly close to him. Onizuka? Nobody knew. He disappeared after suplexing Uchiyamada... but when did he do that? That had to have been... yesterday. Right. You're getting better, kid.  
Why the hell was I here? Once again, you tell me.  
Alright, let's resort to logic. Good choice.  
Fact: I'm in Seibu. Ok.  
Question: What interested me so much that I would leave Kichijoji for Seibu? Keep going...  
Fact: Seibu has a smaller, less diverse shopping district. Uh-huh... keep digging.  
Fact: Seibu has a larger residential area. Right, but...  
I don't know anybody in Seibu. Right.  
Ok, what now? You tell me.  
Dammit, I need something to go on... Then you find it. Remember  
telling the noobs to screw off and make their own armor on Runescape?  
Yeah, yeah. Then keep digging.  
It had to be something special. Good.  
Somebody special? YOU DON'T KNOW ANYBODY IN SEIBU.  
Right. Something special. Good.  
A video game? You can find those in Kichijoji.  
A rare one. Hah, a rare one for the PS? You can find anyone of them anywhere. The thing's only two years old.  
Yeah. You're right. I know I am.  
Yeah, yeah. So. Keep going.  
Food? Camping gear? Porn? I don't know. You tell me.  
I CAN'T REMEMBER. So remember. It'll all be over when you remember.  
Yeah, yeah. Damn you. Hey, don't hate me. You're the one who's supposed to remember.  
Jim cursed himself. He had been wandering for three-quarters of an hour now, trying to find the subway station, and failing. And turning to logic left him going in circles. He was closer to the answers now, but it still left him kinda dry. Some memory had to awaken, some piece had to turn up from under the seat cushion so he could put it back in the puzzle.  
Wait. He didn't know anything about any of the areas in Tokyo except for the Ginza and Kichijoji. Somebody had to have told him about this place, otherwise he never would have gone. The only two people he knew were Azusa, and Onizuka. And Onizuka was unavailable. So why would he be going to buy something for Azusa?  
Oh, no. What?  
Tell me. Heh. You're not going to get me that easily.  
I might have broken The Pact. ...  
Yeah. Any smart comeback to that? Fortunately, no.  
Fortunately? You might have been thinking I would be making light of  
it.  
Oh, well. Shit, we couldn't have that, could we? It's THE PACT, dammit. I would never joke about it.  
Feh. So, you figured more of it out.  
Yeah. And now I'm too angry at myself to keep going with it. ...  
What? "It's The Pact, dammit." Feh. Fine. I'll tell.  
Cough medicine. It was stupid fucking cough medicine. The really good stuff, from the only true Chinese herbal medicine maker within an hour's time of Azusa's house. She called you, said she was too sick to move, gave you directions to Seibu. You got the stuff, but then the thugs caught you, a "stupid American tourist" on a bad street at a bad time. Good thing you offered to pay with your own money, otherwise, you'd be owing that nice woman some right now.  
Shut up.  
What? Which is more embarrassing? The fact that you couldn't take on nine punks? Or that you can't take on one girl?  
SHUT UP.  
Your Pact is breaking. Admit it.  
JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP.  
Fine. I guess I'll leave you alone now.  
It's your Pact too. Don't forget it.  
Yeah. But I'm not going to be as affected if it breaks.  
I need both of us. You think you can sacrifice me?  
Sure. Why not? ~_^  
Jim almost screamed out loud. The enemy was too quick to sacrifice, too quick to be the lizard and cut off his own tail. But Jim didn't grow back like a lizard's tail does.  
Buzz. A light in the distance. A subway, the way home. The way back to a temporary sanity, away from that voice. Temporary, mind you. 


	4. When the Bird Pecks and Misses

Chapter Four: When the Bird Pecks and Misses  
  
(((Note from Jim-Author: Alright, I've gotten some questions about that last one. Jim is listening to two voices. He's not schizophrenic or anything, it's kind of a shoulder angel/ shoulder devil deal. In the original script, the confused voice, representing Jim's right brain, was in straight type, while the forceful, cold voice, representing Jim's left brain, was in italics. On the screen, it created a really good sense of two voices arguing. However, I have no clue how to make italics on FF.net... I think it has something to do with HTML tags. Which I am too lazy to study. So it looked like a confused jumble that somehow suggested that two people were arguing.  
Jim woke up injured in an alley, with the confused voice having lost its memory. Jim has assumed the confused voice. The forceful voice is inside of him, a different state of mind for him, but he is not currently in this state of mind, and has not assumed the forceful voice. The forceful voice has knowledge of what had happened, and prodded the confused voice into trying to remember. The chapter is called "UFO Tofu" because "UFO Tofu" is a palindrome, and kind of shows how Jim experienced a set of events, then had to relive them backwards. The confused voice reaches back and retrieves most of the memories, but gives up in the end and has to be told the last few pieces of memory by the forceful voice. Jim and the confused voice are angered at the fact that the confused voice gave up and had to submit to the forceful one.. And no, I am not going to say what The Pact is. That will come later ^_^.)))  
  
Sunshine again, on the third day. The great ball of sunlight had been broken up a thousand different ways by the time it hit Jim's face, first by the tiny, almost whispy clouds dotting the upper atmosphere, second by the blinds that were proving more and more ineffective at doing what it was supposed to be doing, and that was keeping the sunlight out of Jim's face in the first place.  
So... three days. About how fast a wanted man could get out of a medieval province if he were stuck in the middle. The time it took to execute the baker in Joseph's cell, the same to save the wine-servant. The time it took some relationships to rise and crumble. The length of one baseball game that one time a long time ago. So... is three days good, or bad?  
Jim knew something had to give, something had to break. Today, if he didn't get a call, there would be no call. He'd just have to find work elsewhere. It was his fault for missing the public teaching exam in the first place. It appeared he would be the baker, and not the bearer of wine.  
The fan-blades spun in the air, despite the fact that it was late February. To Jim, everywhere seemed to be too warm, even when he had to wear a jacket. There was just something about warmth that seemed to repulse him. To focus, to get away from the cold, that's what he liked. To focus himself, turn up his own heat, not have it be provided for him. To ignore the ever-present cold, to beat it, to show that he was indeed stronger than the element he liked. Or, maybe he was just fooling himself. He did that a lot, even more nowadays than before.  
Finally, after a bit more thinking, he rose, ate some cereal for breakfast (nobody knew HOW hard he worked to get that specific cereal in Japan), and settled for a few rounds of video games. Ah, the old vice. He had been hooked since age five, when his parents gave him an NES. There had once been a day when he sacrificed friends and family and even grades to play a few more games of Donkey Kong Country and Chrono Trigger, but those days were long gone. The games were still a vice (especially on this uber- nifty Playstation), but not nearly as bad as they had been. The alcoholic had been replaced by the classy English gentleman who adored a fine brandy. Would it be that from the top vineyards of Square or the classy old distillery from Konami or the brash new bottling plant at Sony that enticed him first? RPG, racing, or fighting? What year? 1997 seemed to be a good year for everybody. Except him, of course.  
Moving to Japan seemed to be a waste, now. He liked the place, it was clean, it was sprawling, it gave him the opportunities to grow that he never would have pining away in Grand Ole Suburbia back home. But... there was that feeling. The place was still too regimentalized. The older teachers fought tooth and nail to keep some damn tradition up that nobody under the age of thirty cared about anymore. Divisions by class and familiarity and reputation, similar to those back in the States, carved up the people into castes, alien to each other, mistrustful, even a little bit afraid. It was getting harder to pay the rent, due to the inflation caused by the recession. He knew nobody, nobody wanted to talk to him, because he was an American. They were all separated and afraid. Only those that had seen through the barriers, the first new hope in his generation over here, those like Azusa and Onizuka, could see through the smoke. Too bad he had only met Azusa and Onizuka. A few more people like them, and a good steady job, and, maybe, maybe he could be able to live here in peace. But not until then.  
After Sephiroth killed him twice, Jim turned the games off and walked around town for a while, taking in the sights. It was true, the sections of Tokyo did look very similar to each other, crowded, yet clean, but he continued to soak in information rather than tune it out as white vision. He looked for prices, oh, there was a new laundromat for one hundred yen, that was probably around a dollar. Nice price for Kichijoji. A new record from Namie Amuro, he didn't particularly like her music, but you can't just ignore that big picture of her and "Love is Great, Yeah!" pasted up on the front window of the rekoduya. A resident drunk blowing his last ten thousand yen in an arcade parlor, probably to overload his senses to keep his hangover at bay. Pondering over the questions of commercialism, as well as its pros and cons, he blanked out.  
Jim looked up. Somehow, he had ended up at Lake Inokoshira, which had a large park as well as some apartment complexes. It was where Azusa lived. But, what had brought him here? Sometimes, Jim let his unconscious take over when his conscious was busy. More often than not, it led him to trouble or confusion, or both. Right now, he was confused. He wasn't wearing anything for swimming, it couldn't have been that. Boats? Did he want to boat around the lake? He was pretty sure his subconscious didn't get him all the way over here for something like boating, but he decided to try it anyway.  
"For one," he said, and paid the gruff-looking man behind the counter of the shack on the pier. The boat was very small, maybe a larger man than he couldn't fit in it at all. Jim suspected that that particular boat was rented out to children since no adult in his right mind would be out on Lake Inokashira alone. Well, no adult with more than one friend that he could contact, at least.  
Jim looked out toward the rim of trees, so thin in some places that the apartments almost stood openly of them. Feng Shui in the middle of the bursting metropolis, he thought. The municipal designers had tried to trick the eye, to make the place look like a mountain paradise. But then the builders came and shattered it all with their buildings and sidewalks. Ah well, nobody seems to mind. Which brought up that old question: When could the people give up their old culture, and how? As soon as it comes apparent that the culture is too outdated for effective living with technology, population size, food, resources, general international political climate, etc... and slowly. Gradually. Very gradually. Never wake the sleepwalker, and don't poke the bear. Too bad no entire people seemed to grasp this concept on a large scale. A few enlightened, no more, and the rest either fell headlong to watch something else sputter away to be fixed when they were old codgers, or tried to pull back, and stare in utter horror as what they put together fell to something that somebody else put together. Just 'cause our great-grandfathers took down a few Nazis in their day doesn't make them the world authority. And neither does the allure that the youth possess, the wealth and power they are achieving now, with the new vanguard of computers, the power on the Web that they're unlocking and exploiting, driving it deep into the earth to plunder everywhere else. Something will fall and break and they'll all wonder where all the customers went and the Almighty Dollar and Sidekick Yen will tremble.  
His conscious broke to the surface again, and wondered why he had settled on the opposite shore, next to a little valley that was probably used for a makeout spot. And again, he wondered whether what he called his "subconscious" and "conscious" were just suppressed and superior states of reality, respectively. He picked up the oars and started rowing back, trying to ignore all the couples out there. There always were going to be couples, on the lake, on the streets, in his apartment building, in the games, in his imagination, in his dreams, wherever. There wasn't any use in ignoring them, but he didn't care. At least he could try, try and block out all the memories they brought to and back for him. No point in regressing by his own choice.  
He leapt back up onto the dock, amateur seaman that he was, and tied the boat back to the dock. He paid the man extra for the time he had been on there (two hours, a lot longer than he thought), and walked back to the streets.  
The sites were the same, but there were new people and places to see, as he was on the other side of the road. A trashy looking adult book store, the kind of place Onizuka would love, a second laundromat, ninety-five yen for a wash. A corner grocery store, the kind of place you never saw back home in Suburbanland. An electronics boutique (not the American corporation, mind you), filled to the brim with disks and cartridges. He checked out some of the newer games, the new FIFA soccer, Grand Theft Auto II, even some of the new N64 carts. He didn't have an N64 (he was starting to realize he had made the right decision), but some of them looked worth the extra thousand yen or so to buy. He left the shop, and made the final half mile back to his home.  
Nothing remarkable happened on the way back, he saw nothing remarkable, heard nothing remarkable. Nothing remarkable happened as he entered the door, or when he got his key, or as he walked up the stairs, or when he opened the door, or even when he kicked his shoes off. But, just as he turned on his television, it happened. The phone rang.  
This, in and of itself, was not remarkable. But, the voice on the other end was. A woman's voice. An older voice, authoritative but not decrepit. Familiar, but not quite. A world of wisdom was in that voice, hidden by a few miles of plastic, rubber, and metal, but still quite present and real.  
"Sipensu-san?" Asked the voice.  
"Hai."  
"Your presence is requested at Holy Forest Academy by six o'clock this evening. Come to the side entrance, the one by Yokohana Boulevard."  
The blood in Jim's face drained, leaving him truly cold for the first time in a long time. Could this really be it? Could the job really be open for him? He looked at the clock... it was already 5:30. He put his shoes back on and headed for his bike, locked up in the apartment bike rack, just outside of the apartment building but within the complex. All the while, the adrenaline in his system rose, partly from exercise, partly from excitement.  
Then he was out on the road, rushing to the subway that always seemed too far away. He only had to travel one station, cursed waste of yen, but he couldn't miss this, not now. The speed would help so much. Cars wove around him, but he didn't mind. He had enough experience on the road to be comfortable with biking on it. The street that he had enjoyed walking through was now a blur waiting to pass through him, a burden he would have liked to have lifted RIGHT FREAKING NOW. The sights were no longer pleasant, they were reminders of how far he was. The noises were reminders of his competition, the people in the middle of rush hour, trying to shove past him to get to their homes and their dinners and their nice comfy couches. He was trying to fight for a potential job. The mile flew by, it had only been six minutes since the call, he was going to do fine.  
And then he saw the ticket lines. He'd have to bike down THOSE to get anywhere close to the machines. The waiting was painful, again he felt oddly cold, afraid, alone. There were no orderly lines, because it was rush hour. Everybody in the damn world wanted to get out of their businesses and back into their homes, like the people with the cars. The place was steeped in cold and fear and filth, too many people too close together, he was mildly claustrophobic. Just mildly, and only when he was stressed. Well, he was pretty damn stressed right now.... A few more patient minutes of waiting, seeming like several painful years. All of the people around him were just going through their normal routines, not knowing, not caring that this was his job on the line. Of course, if he had really thought about it, at least SOMEBODY had to be as anxious as he was. But, he wasn't thinking. Or, at least, too clearly.  
The line shrunk, and he was thankful that he had his bike with him, so that he could ward off a few more people. That thought didn't help much, but it was enough to keep him from sliding further into temporary madness. Now everything was a blur, a constant, ever-changing mishmash of colors and shapes that hurt his eyes and dulled his brain. Far too many people, a black mass of hair separating earth from sky, only short glimpses of ashen concrete below, the walls glowing with a pale, yellow, sickly light.  
Finally, there they were, the ticket machines. Jim had blanked out long enough to get to them. So much like the ones in Washington. But still so different, filled with hiragana and katakana, not a single bit of romaji to be seen... his hand stopped. Not romaji... Roman letters. When did you start calling them romaji out of habit? Shut up. He moved his hand again, and pushed the buttons and inserted the coins for his ticket.  
He gave a surprised grunt as a black sphere with red stripes hurtled toward him. A human head. Attached to a body, don't worry. But there are still some things you don't want to see flying at you. The head slammed into his chest, right at the top of the sternum, and from the cry the head gave out it seemed to belong to a girl. Once again, with a bad dye-job. And smelling like vanilla. Jim's head snapped back into place, after noticing that his hands were around her waist. He felt her butt pressing into his legs. That familiar scent, that familiar position. The warmth of her body felt cold to him, the second time in a long time. He released her immediately.  
Feh, I thought a little nostalgia would have been good for you. You know, to ease the transition.  
Shut up.  
"What did you say, Yankee?" Jim looked up, the battle between logic and emotion temporarily abated. To his surprise, he was looking at a young woman. And she, the girl who had rammed into him, and a guy, were all staring at him, pissed.  
"Are you deaf as well as blind? Apologize and bow, Yankee."  
"Eh?"  
The angry woman snarled and tensed up until her head rattled and her face flushed. She had hit six feet, taller than Jim, a veritable giant in Japan, and looked like a competent athlete, slim muscles starting so show under her strawberry-patterned shirt.  
The guy, another typical tortured teen with a crappy dye job, spoke up. "Hitomi here was in the middle of apologizing to you when you told her to shut up. What do you have to say to that?"  
Another cold wave. The realization hit him. His emotions had overtaken him, taken his mouth without him even realizing it. He thought he had just thought the words "shut up", when they were actually manifested in the form of sound. And now it was time to pay for his failure to keep himself in check.  
"Gomen. I really haven't been myself lately. There was no excuse for my lashing out at you. Gomen nasai, Hitomi-san."  
Hitomi and the guy seemed mollified, but the giant-woman wasn't. In a furious, almost feral, voice, she asked, "I told you to BOW, Yankee."  
But then Hitomi spoke. "It's alright, Naka. He doesn't have to bow." Jim thought he was entirely in the clear, but then the girl said, "He probably got dumped recently, you know, hatred to all women kind of thing."  
Now Naka was finally pleased. Well, pleased at the prospect of insulting Jim. "Yeah, he probably ran over here to get away from her."  
Jim said nothing, but gave Hitomi a sad look. A "You betrayed me" kind of look. Well, he guessed he deserved it, after lashing out like that. He departed, and fought his way up the ticket line like a salmon would upriver. He checked his wrist instinctively when he got into the clear, but then remembered that he didn't have a watch. Hurrying on, more vicious thoughts rammed into his fragile consciousness.  
What was that? Memories can hurt you? I never knew!  
God DAMN it.  
Hehe. I never realized how weak I am when you're in the system.  
Why do you think I'm here then?  
A shield. Right. Out of sight, out of mind, eh? Well, you're mistaken, nothing ever-  
I know. Nothing ever leaves the mind. They proved that seventy years ago.  
So why are you repeating such a gross miscarriage of science, seventy years later?  
Science isn't everything. A lie can be construed as a truth if it is believed in enough.  
I know. But that still doesn't exclude the fact that it IS truth. Falter once, and the truth comes back to kick your ass.  
Get out.  
You need me to get to the school. Your drive can't get you there alone.  
You see the possibilities. You want this as much as I do.  
Once again, I underestimate me... you... whoever you are.  
We're BOTH me.  
Riiiiiight... how could I forget.  
You never did.  
I know.  
Somehow, in the midst of his mental battles*, Jim stumbled onto the train. The clock showed him to have ten minutes left. He almost cursed out loud, but caught himself on "FUH". Somebody shoved him in the back while he stared at the clock and calculated, breaking his thought process. Once again, he had to stop himself short from doing something foolish, his head not five inches from ramming an old man in the small of the back. After straightening himself back out, he started calculating again. Ten minutes left... two minutes to the next station, probably another three or four to get out. Four minutes to go a half mile. Not good odds, considering he had a seven minute mile at best. And he was a lot heavier than he was in those happy times. The train lurched, and he almost stumbled into a young man before grabbing onto the loop suspended from the ceiling.  
Now it was speeding along, the sluggish beat of the rails beneath them growing steadily quicker and louder, yet quieter as the engine slowly roared to life. Jim felt a jolt of silence course through his body as the beat of the rails matched that of his body, the metal jump accentuating the organic thump. The beat of rails sped on unheedingly, leaving Jim to ponder despite his racing core.  
And then it was over. The brakes didn't screech, but you could tell it was slowing down from the wind, the dull howl slowly getting stronger, raging as its life was about to end. And yet, the noise on the train, as opposed to outside of it, never faltered. A few quiet businessmen still stood quietly, that cute little couple of teenage girls talked just as loudly, a few hundred unsung notes spilled from earphones on greasy heads. And thus, is life...  
Strangely, this thought calmed him. The idea that life never changed. Sure, lives changed, but, that idea in itself helped prove that life never changed because all lives change. It is a prerequisite of life that whatever lives are lived must change. The nerd rose from the bottom of the trash can and strove to master the world. The jock overestimated himself, and now serves the nerd. That arrogant sonofabitch who refused to see reality as it was and lived only to serve himself couldn't cope with working with others, and was ostracized. Thus is life.  
The pain washed away from him. The stress and claustrophobia blew away with the whoosh of the doors. Life gave him an opportunity once, and he spurned it. Now, it gave him a second one. Rare, but not impossible, especially to those astute or humble. Jim considered himself both.  
He was barely aware of what happened next. This was his calling. He was going to be a teacher. Despite what his mind screamed into his system, Jim let go of his senses. He was kami-kaze, divine wind. He fit inside the cracks the people left between them. Somehow, his hand stuffed the card in the slot at the exit gate and the gate swung open. Now out into the low sun the wind flew, feeding off the heat and the energy, just flowing. He couldn't feel his legs moving or getting tired, he didn't see anything but the shining beacon before him. He was the wind, he had no legs or eyes, just the need for more warmth. Warmth to live.  
Finally, the weight of his legs dragged him back into the mundane world. The pain in his chest overcame his lightness of mind. The spike in his gut told him he was there. He was at the school, panting and choking in the twilight. He climbed over the fence, and jumped down to the sound of a raging semi-trailer. It skidded to a halt just outside the school, and a man jumped out. Even in the dimming light, Jim could see that he was gruff, muscular, and in need of a shave. And he had blond hair.  
"Onizuka...."  
Onizuka looked at Jim, the surprise on his face matched by him. They were both interviewing for a position. Whatever travails Onizuka pulled off, Jim probably didn't want to know right then and there. But, as they entered the building to the sounds of the sirens hunting Onizuka himself, Jim's halves spoke to each other one more time.  
You did good, kid.  
Only what you told me I couldn't do.  
I underestimated you.  
No shit, Sherlock.  
Maybe you are worth keeping around.  
Feh. I was always worth keeping around. Without me, you're just a computer. And you know what?  
What?  
This proves another thing. We cling. Life on the margins is brought out to its fullest potential. Unless we walk out to the edge, we aren't running efficiently. It's why the mightiest kings fell, the most powerful empires crushed themselves under their own weight. Unless we hang from the cliff, none of our muscles will be very strong. He just proved ourselves that. We could've given up and gone out for the other schools. But you know what? They wouldn't have taken me. I would have been lost in the shuffle again.  
So what?  
So. It's not just me that would be hurt. You're vulnerable, too. Vulnerable to logic. Unless I decide to believe in the lies, you'd be too petrified by pure logic to get anywhere.  
Like I said, you're good, kid.  
And who said I wasn't? I just needed to apply myself.  
For a moment, both minds fell silent. The woman from the student store came before them, her comfortable sweater and smock replaced by a severe business suit. She introduced herself as Mrs. Sakurai, Chairwoman of the Board at Holy Forest. When she turned and beckoned for the two to follow her, Jim whispered to himself, "Thus, is life." 


End file.
